Wanderlust
by Red Wasabi
Summary: Countdown can no longer live in the lie he has forced himself to live in. CliffjumperCountdown


**Title:** Wanderlust

**Author:** Red Wasabi

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I play anyway.

**Notes:** **Cliffjumper/Countdown** OK, I know everyone is thinking, what another short and her other fic hasn't even gotten an update yet? I know, I know, bad authoress! But I had to this short was begging to be released, and I am but a humble slave to my muse's wishes. There is a ch3 of File Made Void in the wrench works right now; it's just being refined at the moment. And since I have a strong suspicion that no one reads my AN's it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference anyway! So ONWARDS AND UPWARDS!

**Rated:** G

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The shuttle dock buzzed noisily. The never ending rattle of a thousand vocalizers, shouting commands, giving directions, and making announcements; it was the perfect place to go when you wanted your thoughts to be drowned out in calliope of ceaseless, meaningless _noise_.

Countdown slid down the wall and on to the dirty floor of the docking bay. He slumped forward tiredly, and rested his head on his knee joints. He was just so _tired_; Crosscut's optics flickered once before shutting off completely. He took in a low, shaky breath and then slowly released it. Willing the day's tension to ease it's way out of his frame and sink unseen into the metal floors below him. This was the third time in two days that he had come here to forget himself again.

The walls vibrated almost musically against his frame as another ship set off into the great vastness of unknown space. At the same time a shudder passed delicately through Countdown's weary frame. He wasn't sure if it was the sound itself, or just the idea of exploring that caused those feelings to stir deep down inside his chassis. Either way it kept him coming day after day, kept him dreaming of the stars beyond.

Countdown sighed deeply, when had he started to think of this planet as more of a prison then a home? He should be happy; he was living the mech dream. He had a great position as head clerk in Iacon. He had a wonderful lover who supported him in everything he did. He was really…building a life.

Countdown pressed himself firmly against the wall as another ship launched, the vibrations echoed through out his frame leaving him trembling and—leaking? Countdown brought a confused digit up to his optics, gently rubbing away the heated coolant. Countdown's optics blinked on, and he stared dejectedly at the pale blue fluid that had dripped from them.

A loud voice blared angrily over the comm. system, startling Countdown from his somber mood. The crashing noises and equally as loud curses that followed caught his attention; Countdown stared out across the docking the bay at the unloading supply ship and suddenly he realized: He didn't want this—he wanted what they had—what ever that was.

A flash of guilt raced through his spark as he stood up to go and help the struggling mechs. Cliffjumper would never forgive him. They had been together for so long, and the red mech had just found a place that he deemed worthy of living in with Countdown. They knew each other so well…and that Countdown supposed was the problem. He didn't want to stay here, in Iacon, on Cybertron, or slag even in this galaxy for the rest of his life-cycle! He wanted something new, he wanted to experience new worlds, new peoples—_He wanted._

That was where he and Cliffjumper had always disagreed. Cliff, he was just happy being where he was. He didn't want anything beyond the status quo, he was happy leading a normal stationary existence. Countdown nodded gruffly at the straining mech before bending over and heaving up the other side of the supply tank. The mech nodded back grateful for the help, and together they silently struggled onto the ship.

Once upon a time Countdown had even been ok with ignoring his own needs, and wants in order to make Cliffjumper happy. He loved the mech, would always love him; but sometimes that just wasn't enough. A few vorns ago had had tried to get Cliffjumper to sign aboard a ship with him. To travel to share what he loved; and he had been met with scorn and derision. Why would Countdown want to go exploring? Every mech knows that only the roughest and lowest mechs have that kind of wanderlust. Why leave Cybertron, it's a golden age, we have _everything_!

That word seemed to echo resoundingly inside Countdown's thought processors as he and the mech hefted the tank into it's holder. He didn't want everything; he want adventure, he wanted surprise. He wanted to wake up everyday not knowing exactly what would happen to him.

The blue mech next to him grunted, "You looking for work?" and for a moment Countdown's air compressor froze. This was it, the moment he'd been waiting for; but was it really what he wanted?

A lifetime of comfort and happiness flashed before his optics, he would be giving it all up. He could say no now, and spend the rest of life here, on this planet. Comfortable—safe, with his spark mate—or he could say yes; and open his entire life up to the unknown. A shuttle launched somewhere in the distance, the vibrations curled themselves up Countdown's frame, caressing the wires, and plating like a lover would.

His head sagged along with his frame, there was no choice here—not really. He could no longer deny what was in him, what was apart of him. Resolutely he looked back into the waiting mech's optics, "Yeah I'm looking for a job." he responded with a nervous smile.

The mech smiled broadly, "We can use a mech like yourself on this ship, some bot who'll shift himself without being told. We leave in one metacycle, be aboard or not." The mech pause to glance over his shoulder plates. "And now I'm needed over in the customs area, slaggit. I hate these Primus be damned commercial shipping hubs." The mech turned to leave but stopped, "My name's Greenfin by the way, and I'm the captain of this ship." He said thrusting his digit out to grasp Countdown's.

Countdown grinned widely at the Captain, "Countdown, Sir. And I'll be on that ship."

Greenfin nodded approvingly, "Good to hear that." he jerked his head at the shouting mechs across the bay floor. "Well duty calls." he explained with a shrug of his heavy green shoulder plates as he turned and loped causally off to talk to the frantic mechs across the bay.

* * *

The sound of ignition was blocked for the first time in Countdown's audios. He was too busy looking through the small shuttle window, down at the rapidly disappearing planet below him. He had done it. H e had left it all behind him. There would be no more mind numbly autonomous days for him to simply stand by and live through. Each day here would bring a new challenge, a new discovery, a new him. 

Countdown checked his internal clock, about this time Cliffjumper would be coming home to their little rented dwelling in upper Iacon, and he would wonder where he was. By the time he was in hyperspace Cliff would be in on of his pissy fits of anger at him, waiting for him to come home home so he could accuse him of being late on purpose. He knew their routine by spark, an backwards an forwards, except this time—he wouldn't be coming home. And by the time he was out of hyperspace and on another side of the universe, Cliffjumper would be systematically destroying all of his few personal belongs. That's when he would find the holo-message that Countdown had left for him.

At first Cliffjumper would be shocked, then angry thinking ti was a practical joke That Countdown was playing on him. He would go tearing around Iacon, and the surrounding cities, searching for his wayward lover—but this time he wouldn't find him.

Countdown sighed and tore his gaze away from the window, Cliffjumper should have known better than to try and tie him down. He loved the red mech, and he had no doubt that Cliffjumper loved him back. It just wasn't the right kind of love; Countdown had realized that too late.

"Attention will all mechs please report to main bay for debriefing." The cool voice that floated over the ship wide intercom shook Countdown from his morose thoughts. He should have known better, _they_ both should have known better. You can't love someone who's spark belong to wanderlust.


End file.
